


Draw Out The Night

by maramcreates



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Butt Slapping, Consensual, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Finger Sucking, Food Kink, Gender Roles, Gratuitous Smut, Halla (Dragon Age), Hand Jobs, Innocence, Leather Kink, Lube, Oral Sex, Pegging, Pony Play, Premature Ejaculation, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Public Nudity, Riding Crops, Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Smut, Strap-Ons, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 10:31:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6371308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maramcreates/pseuds/maramcreates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Cullen could never have imagined that playing the role of a horse, or rather a halla, would be so...satisfying, <i>especially</i> when it was under the steady hand of Inquisitor Lavellen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draw Out The Night

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:  
> "Halla!Cullen/Lavellan, ponyplay" - _(Original prompt located[here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15543.html?thread=61551287#t61551287).)_
> 
> At night Cullen is Lavellan's halla. He wears a bit, she rides him bareback around Skyhold and gets off on the rocking motion/clitoral stimulation. Afterward she takes him to the stables and brushes him and rubs him down.
> 
> They're super straight-laced and formal around each other during the day. It's an open secret that the Commander and Inquisitor are really into pony play and everyone feigns ignorance/turns a blind eye.
> 
> \+ Lavellan hand-feeds him  
> \+ Sexy rewards for being a good pony  
> \+ Consensual studding  
> ++ When a visiting dignitary starts asking questions Horseman Dennet covers for them  
> +++ Backstory on how they figured out they're both into this  
> ++++ Any other amazing pony thing I haven't thought of  
>   
> Author's Notes:  
> \- The first 240ish words (up until the * * * marker) were written by lizcommotion, and the remainder by me.  
> \- Lavellan (in this fic) is a short, slight, extremely light person (and an elf for those of you who are not familiar with Dragon Age canon). I say this because the physical limitations of the average human back would not hold up to this fic's content otherwise (i.e., for those of you with a sudden interest in pony play, human backs are easily injured during four-legged riding).  
> \- A halla is a kind of large deer in the Dragon Age world (again, for those of you unfamiliar with the canon).  
> \- While this is f/m, I wrote this fic as if it were f/f and threw in male pronouns. This means that there is very little in the way of dick in this fic, so if you're here for dick...well, you'll likely be disappointed--I'm sorry. If, however, you're a fan of femslash sexual creativity, fics that mess with gender roles, and fics that focus on sensual play, then you'll likely have a good amount of fun.  
>  **Thank you for reading, and I hope you find a lot to enjoy here : ) !**
> 
> Updated:  
> \- 3/27/2016 for typos.

"You're sure the Orlesian ambassadors celebrate spring by wearing these horse costumes?" Cullen said dubiously.

"Am I not Orlesian?" Leliana answered in that soft-spymaster's-know-it-all tone.

"Yes, but why aren't you wearing one?" Cullen asked again.

"As I keep telling you, only men wear the equestrian regalia. It _is_ related to ancient fertility..."

"Yes, yes, all right." Cullen pulled the pony head over his, and adjusted his chaps. "Though I wish there were more coverage."

With a deep breath, he threw open the doors of the ballroom to find that he was, in fact, the only one wearing 'equestrian regalia.'

As he turned back frantically for an explanation, Leliana was disappearing into the darkness.

"My apologies," she said. "It was the easiest way to get Sera to stop pestering my crows. And you do have the figure for it."

Cullen left the ballroom without being announced, his stallion's mane not covering the embarrassed quiver in his cheeks.

In the garden, he paused to catch his breath. It wasn't that he was entirely mad. He did not want to tell Leliana, and _definitely_ not Sera, that he found he enjoyed the costume. He did find it stirring certain impulses that had been dormant in him.

He tried stamping his foot, as though a stallion, and shook his head at himself.

When he looked up, he saw that he was being watched.

* * *

He did not need much more than the light of the moon to know that the silhouette above him was Lavellan's. It was the way she leaned against the railing with her hips, with her arms cast to the side to hold her up, as she so often did at the War Table in Skyhold.

There was a delicious twist to how her back unwound when she pulled away, and Cullen found himself eager to disappear lest he make himself more the fool than he already was.

It was when Cullen attempted his most dignified exit, that he heard Lavellan's husky voice call to him, "Easy."

Easy? She was mocking him, surely, but it was not the heat of anger that coursed through his underdressed form, but another, more compelling, sort.

Cullen turned to see the silhouetted Inquisitor sauntering down the curving stairs and into the garden, her face still hidden in the shadows cast upon her.

He gulped, "Inquisitor, I was just..."

"Leaving?" she cooed, "Were you intending to leave me behind without a steed?"

The woman, slight and at least a full head shorter than him, if not more, loomed as she came ever closer. Cullen could begin to see the wisps of her breath intermingle with his own, and his pulse quickened.

Lavellan pointed at a nearby shrub full of blossoms and said, "Target."

"Excuse me?" Cullen stuttered, "What...?"

She let loose an elaborate sigh, as if he was ruining her fun by being so dense, "Have you never had your horse touch it's nose to whatever you were pointing at?"

He stared at the woman. She wanted him to behave as horse. If it had been anyone else, Sera most definitely, and Leliana now that she's shown her true colors, he would have refused -- he would not be made a fool twice in one night. But, the Inquisitor had always shown him the utmost respect and care, and he could not believe that she meant to humiliate him further.

"Target," she repeated, and Cullen found himself failing to resist the urge to bury his horse's muzzle in the flowers at her command.

"Good boy," her hand rested on his side as he was bent to take in the scent of the shrub, "See? That wasn't so bad was it?"

He stamped his foot.

Lavellan trailed her other hand along the mane of his back, gently teasing apart the tangled fur of the costume. It was such a subtle thing that he nearly missed it, but the night was chilly enough that he could feel the heat of her hands upon his back and side.

That hand soon traveled to the exposed flesh of his rump, and a sudden tension began to swell against the leather chaps. That her hand caressed his cheek was more than Cullen could stand to bear, but now, he could hardly bear to stand lest his shame become apparent.

There was a sudden jolt, a burning smack against his ass that the man nearly reared, bolting upright.

"Whoa boy," the Inquisitor soothed, rubbing the soreness she had inflicted, "Easy now."

Cullen found the sudden urge to feel a crop against his skin unnerving, embarrassing really, but just the thought of a braid of hard leather in those lovely slender hands drew a beading and salty sweat along his brow.

"Target," Lavellan said again, and when Cullen dared to look to where she pointed a flustered heat flashed across his face.

He swallowed and it was as a hard and unwieldy lump caught in his throat. He forced it down, not wanting to fail in this simple task, this one thing that he felt he still understood, but it hurt.

Lavellan's finger continued to point, and Cullen knew that only one long and winding path lay before him. And so, he bent at the waist again, but this time he went further and rested upon his knees, falling forward to place his hands upon the grass beneath him, and he began to nuzzle the woman's boots.

"Good boy," she stroked his side, and he could almost see that secret smile she wore on occasion, "Let's take a turn about the garden shall we?"

And it was in this garden, on this dark and chilled night, that Cullen was led in a circuitous route, not like a common pack animal, but as a treasured steed. His gait was admired, and his clumsy strides smoothed in the glow of the Inquisitor's praise.

He so wanted to please her that it stung, and his desire was as a taut and singular tether, a braided rein in Lavellan's lithe hands.

"Easy," she stilled, guiding him to her side and stroking the length of his back, "You are quite the fine specimen, your balance is superb."

Cullen heart leapt at the woman's approval, and he raised his head high.

A purring rumbled in the Inquisitor's throat, "Very nice. You are such a good halla, aren't you?"

A halla? But he wasn't....

"I believe that I will try a ride upon your back," she wrapped her fingers about his neck, feeling the length of it, and letting her hands wander upon his shoulders and collarbone, "Without a saddle of course."

Perhaps he could be a halla for one ride after all.

Lavellan didn't wait for him to respond, but threw her leg over his backside to straddle him. It startled Cullen that she was so light, for the strain he had expected seemed a distant and silly thing now.

Her hands traveled to his shoulders again, and when she rolled her hips forward to reach, Cullen felt a soft heat upon his back.

"Ooh," she exhaled slowly, "What a good... _good_ boy you are."

Cullen's chaps were nearly bursting beneath him, but the discomfort only drove his arousal further. He wanted nothing more than to feel the length of her form upon him, to have her fingers pull at his hair, and to hear her rasp in his ear, _'Trot faster.'_

"I think I'll keep you," she breathed, and Cullen let loose a fraught and eager whinny.

Lavellan slid off his back, though her heat continued to press against him, and it was all Cullen could do not to stand again as a man and hold her fast.

"Inquisitor," he pleaded, hoping she would take pity and splay her thighs around his back. That she would ride him once again.

"Quiet!" she commanded, stepping away and leaving him to the chill of the air. Her voice was harsh to his ears, "Do halla speak?"

He had been bad, Cullen knew this now. He needed to fully play the role, he _had_ to, or sweet release would never come.

He stamped his hand twice, _no._

There was a moment, too long it seemed, where Lavellan said nothing, and Cullen's heart began to sink at the notion that he might have erred once again.

 _Please_ , he thought, _Tell me what I must do to please you!_

The Inquisitor's hand returned to his backside and, after a long and heavy moment, she let it trail down to the back of his thigh, then between them.

Cullen whimpered, for he could not be sure that he would not speak out of turn again if the woman went any further so soon.

It was as if Lavellan knew his thoughts, for her finger stilled upon that tender stretch of skin between his cheeks and groin, and she leaned forward to whisper sweetly in his ear.

"Shall we return to Skyhold and her stables, my halla?"

Cullen stamped his hand against the ground hard enough to break his fingers, _yes!_

~ ~ ~

Josephine was escorting the Orlesian Comte, Baudin de Firmin, on a tour of Skyhold, when the man asked in seeming innocence, "How is the Inquisitor these days? She is well, I hope?"

Josephine was wondering how long it would take the man to dare and ask, but after the lengthy tour, she found that she was impressed with his restraint. Most nobles asked well before now.

"She is well, of course, your lordship and regrets that she cannot see to you herself this morning. The Lady Lavellan's obligations are numerous, and she has had a long night. Currently, she is resting, but she should be able to meet with you later on this afternoon."

Josephine wasn't being completely truthful, though she wasn't lying outright either. The truth was that Lavellan truly _did_ have a long night, but it made the Antivan blush to think for any length of time on _why_.

"And the Commander?" the Comte continued, "Resting as well?"

 _Why_ did Leliana subject Cullen to that ridiculous prank all those weeks ago? It was exceedingly embarrassing having to answer these questions, on a daily basis no less, from visiting dignitaries. Did Leliana not think of the position she was putting Josephine in?

The woman realized that Leliana probably knew quite well. The woman's excuse that Sera put her up to it, which Josephine _knew_ Leliana could have easily sidestepped, was especially infuriating.

"Yes your lordship, the Commander has been under a lot of pressure lately. You understand, of course."

"Yes, of course," the Comte replied simply.

 _Maker's breath Leliana!_ Josephine cursed to herself, _What have you done?_

~ ~ ~

Horseman Dennet was a simple man. He simply breathed and lived horses. He groomed them, cared for them. He raised them and bred them. Life was straightforward, and all things had their place. Horses, steeds of any kind really, were not complicated, at least not as complicated as people made them out to be. You found one that complimented your temperament and you made it yours. Nothing more, nothing less.

But now...well, now horses were complicated.

"Your lordship," Dennet called out to the noble, "This lowly stable is no place for a man such as yourself, perhaps you should return to your quarters and I can send someone for you when your horses are ready?"

It wasn't really a question, but these blasted nobles didn't respond well to demands, so he had to play nice.

"My good man," the Comte replied, "Thank you for your concern, but I am not so highborn that I cannot set foot in a stable."

It was nearing dawn, and Dennet knew that it wouldn't be long before the stables needed to be vacated. He needed to get this damned man away.

"Your lordship," the horseman forced the words though his teeth, "I must _insist_ that you return to your quarters. The Inquisition always honors its guests and can't be found wanting, so please, I will send for you when your horses are ready to take you and yours home."

The noble didn't seem pleased to be turned away, but Dennet would be damned if he let the man stay here and witness the insanity that the stables had become each and every dawn for the last few weeks.

It was...complicated. He knew of no other word that so fully described his dismay and disdain. Life was meant to be simple, and it completely unnerved him that anyone would want to make things so bloody difficult.

~ ~ ~

A nicker emerged from Cullen, slipping past the steel bit he held in his mouth, when they entered the empty stables.

Lavellan had left a warm slickness all along his back, and Cullen was pleased that he had trotted to the woman's satisfaction. He had been very good all night, and not once did he slip up and elicit her irritation.

"Whoa, my halla," she pulled on the reins to slow him, "We had a good ride tonight, didn't we?"

Cullen stamped his hand, and raised his head high.

The Inquisitor dismounted, and looped the rein around a post before turning away to shut the stable doors.

Horsemaster Dennet had left them with several lit lanterns again, and Cullen was glad, for the orange light they cast upon the woman's bare buttocks left her seeming like the smoothest caramel.

He licked his lips.

"You have improved so much over the last few days, my dear halla," Lavellan sang as she fixed the latch upon the door, "That I think you deserve a special treat tonight."

The woman's slight bosom fluttered when she turned, and Cullen's carefully restrained arousal veered ever so slightly from his control.

He knew better than to say anything, to _do_ anything, without her explicit consent that he simply stood and waited for the Inquisitor to approach him.

A predatory smile spread across her lips and Cullen found himself beginning to tremble as he awaited her will.

The woman closed the distance between them, and carefully removed the unwieldy bit from his mouth, setting it upon an empty hook left on a post beside her.

When she bent to retrieve the feed bag from the stool, Cullen picked up the subtle scent of her heat that arose, and so he averted his eyes, lest he lose himself completely to his desire. It was like this that he waited as patiently as he could for what would come next.

Lavellan secured the feed bag around his head, and left him to lap up the cake crumbs that filled it, while she drew the stool and sat beside his arms.

"Let's take off those shoes, shall we?" she cooed, running her hand down the length of his arm and pulling it up so as to remove the thick leather glove he wore. She soon reached across the front of him, brushing against his bare skin, to repeat the gesture and remove the other glove as well.

The Inquisitor's face lingered before his shoulder, her warm breath pillowing upon his neck, "Are you enjoying your oats my halla?"

Cullen neighed, _yes_.

"Good boy," she adjusted the straps of the feed bag so that it sat better, and soon stood, taking the stool with her.

He heard her set the stool down by his legs, and the woman's fingers traced the straps that held the cushioned leather fastened to his shins and knees. He had sweated heavily there, and her finger swabed some up before he heard the soft slurp of her tasting what she collected.

He forced himself to focus on the cake crumbs, the sweetness and the messy cream that had smeared all around the inside of the bag and thus his face. There was a strawberry filling that all but begged to be licked clean, and he sighed in an easy contentment that Lavellan had used his favorite cake this night.

It was thus that he managed to get through the torture of her hands running all along his legs and calves, undoing the modified greaves that protected him during their nightly rides. That her hands traveled all along his backside, that the tips of her fingers followed the drying trails of sweat, was pushed from his mind. He needed to keep his focus on the feed bag, or he would no longer be a good boy.

And he _so desperately wanted_ to be a good boy.

"Oh!" she cried suddenly, startling Cullen enough that he nearly forgot all about the strawberry filling, "Your back is such a mess...let's clean you up, shall we?"

Cullen relaxed, confident now that all was well, and returned his attention to the cake.

Lavellan poured some oil onto a sponge, from a large bottle with a looped leather handle, and soon began to massage it into his skin and sore muscles.

She rubbed down his back, working the dried stickiness she left behind into him along with the oil. He could almost feel her straddle him once again when she wrapped her arm around him to get at his other side. Her breasts trailed as she did so, and Cullen nearly choked on the mouthful of cake and cream he had just inhaled.

"Your coat will gleam in the dawn light, my halla," she soon said, "And you will be the envy of all who look upon you."

He responded with a contented neigh, pleasure rippling up the back of his neck.

"You have been such a good steed, so faithful, so attentive," the sponge trailed upon his nipples, and, to his surprise, they pinched till they ached at the touch, "That I wondered how I could show you just how good you've been."

She poured a bit more oil onto the sponge before she continued, purring into his ear, "Then it came to me, and I could think of nothing else since."

The oil had been spread all along his naked form now, with the exception of one place, and the anticipation was more than he could coolly ignore anymore. Whatever it was, whatever it could possibly be, he was sure that the Inquisitor would make it count, and he couldn't afford to dash away her plans now with his impatience.

Lavellan ran the oil soaked sponge along his belly, down to his navel, and more. He gasped at how much harder he had managed to get, the slightest touch of the sponge causing a treacherous tremor that meant to unravel him.

"So steadfast," she admired, "So restrained."

The sponge was placed upon the stool now, and the Inquisitor came before him to undo the straps holding the feed bag. She gently pulled it away from his face, and he found that her mouth parted in salacious delight as she smiled.

_Dear Maker..._

"You've made such a _mess_ ," she lingered upon the words, "What ever shall I do with you?"

The woman ran her finger along his cheek, before she came to his lips. There, her finger traced the corner of his mouth, and slowly trailed across his lower lip.

"Such a mess," she whispered, and her finger, now covered in sweet cream and strawberry filling, made its way into his mouth, "Clean it up."

Cullen obeyed, his tongue lapping up as much as he could before she changed her mind.

It was when he was nearly finished that Lavellan added a second finger, breathing out the word, "Again."

This time she went further in, past her knuckles, "Long and slow strokes," she commanded, "Yes...just like that."

The tip of Cullen's tongue trailed along the underside of her fingers, while his lips closed around them. He maintained a steady rhythm, in and out, in and out, until she bid him stop.

"Very nice," her voice was heavy, earthy, and he noticed the sudden quickness of her breath.

The Inquisitor stepped back, her eyes clearly showing the burden of her restraint, and soon turned to retrieve a leather bag from where it hung.

From it she withdrew a series of leather straps...no...a harness, he realized, but for what he could not guess.

It took her a moment to untangle the mass in her hands, and before long had strapped the leather around her hips and thighs.

From the bag, she withdrew a long braid of leather, and he marked that immediately as a riding crop. His heart leapt at the sight, but he maintained his composure as best he could.

There was yet another thing that she pulled out of the bag before she was finished, and while he had no idea what it could possibly be, Lavellan's eyes took on devilish gleam as she looked upon him.

It was a smooth and rounded length of glass, under a foot in all, and save for a wide flaring at the base where she held it, it was fairly uniform in thickness up to the curved tip.

He didn't dare ask, but he still could not fathom what it was.

The Inquisitor grinned, remaining silent in the face of his obvious confusion, and ran the tip of the rod along her neck, down between her breasts, until it trailed past her belly.

That was when she undid a clasp around a hard leather ring at the front of her harness, and slipped the rod through the opening so that the flared base rested against the harness itself. She fastened the ring again, and once she was satisfied that all seemed secure, she slid the crop beneath one of the straps and let her hands trail to her sides.

It was...? _Oh...dear and sweet Maker!_

"I think that you shall be a doe this night, my halla," Lavellan took a measured step towards him, and then another, "And I shall be the stag."

He shivered as she approached, unsure if it was due to the chill in the air or to the tremors that threatened in his loins.

He gulped.

She bent to reach for the bottle of oil, and let some drizzle upon the tip of the rod. Lavellan watched him intently as she stroked the length of glass and spread the oil.

"You've been _so_ good," her oiled hand touched upon his shoulder as she passed him, and she let it drag along the length of his side as she approached his rump, "So I had this specially made for you, to show my appreciation."

The heat of her was behind him, he could feel it, and soon her foot nudged his knees further apart to leave him more fully exposed.

Her hand stroked his cheeks in a wide circle once, and then Cullen heard the sound of the crop being drawn.

The flat tip of the crop alighted between his shoulders, and the leather followed the curvature of his muscles, down to the side of his ribs.

That he could feel the leather, even though it was as gentle as breath along his skin, drew a gasp from him that was as close to a human sound as he dared make.

"Do you know what I enjoyed most about our ride earlier tonight?" the woman's voice bordered on a low growl, "The sweet innocence in your gait, your easy trust."

She leaned forward, the cool glass rod resting upon his cheeks, "I wonder, will that sweetness last come dawn?"

The Inquisitor tapped the crop against his side, and a sudden warmth gathered about the spot.

"There is just so much to show you," she tapped again, this time a little faster, "So much for you to taste, to sample."

The tapping took on a steady beat, but was still soft enough that Cullen was beginning to feel a little disappointed at how underwhelming it was.

The tapping moved suddenly to his other side, and a trail of goosebumps, then heat, followed.

Lavellan poured some oil over his ass, and let the glass rod glide along the crack between his cheeks, "What will you do, my sweet halla, when I find my way within you? Will you whimper for more?"

There was a sharp sting on his side as the crop's tapping got faster, and he took a quick intake of breath at the unexpected sensation.

"Will you beg?" her growl came, and Cullen fought the moan that swelled inside him at the sound of it.

He stamped his hand, _yes!_

The tapping moved randomly then, once upon his shoulder, then against his outer thigh, his arm, his backside. It kept moving, and the heat followed it where it went as his back began to arch towards the earth below him.

That slight change shifted where the glass rod lay, and Cullen had a sudden twinge of anticipation as the rod got ever closer to its rightful place.

The oil came again, and there was so much of it that he felt sure they would both drown in it all.

When the bottle was set down, Lavellan worked the oil between his cheeks with her hand as the crop continued in delicious tapping.

Soon enough, the crack between his cheeks stroked the length of the rod, and Cullen found that the Inquisitor was right.

He whimpered for more.

He wasn't sure if the woman took pity on him, or if this had been her plan all along, but the moment the whimper escaped him, the moment that stuttering and high pitched exhalation passed his lips, Cullen felt the curved tip of the rod press against the opening, but only _just_.

The tapping stopped, and the sound of the crop returning to the harness left him panicking that he had done something wrong.

But in the second it took for Lavellan to put away the crop, her hands grabbed the swell of his ass and she spread his cheeks wide.

The tip pushed through then, and the cool and hard rod had slid in a inch or so when he gasped at how tight the fit was.

"Deeper?" the woman asked, and though Cullen was surprised at the question, he was glad for it. The rod had seemed a little thin, but he had no idea it would feel _this_ thick within him.

He stamped his hand again, _yes_.

Her hands trailed forward to grip his hips and she pulled him towards her, the rod sliding in a few inches more.

Cullen could hardly breathe, and when he bent his head down to calm himself, he saw that a small pool of precum had formed on the ground, barely larger than a coin.

She slid out of him, slowly until the whole of the rod was gone. The tightness along his anus eased as it collapsed to close again, and he was able to take in a deep and sweet breath.

The Inquisitor drizzled more oil, this time using her thumb to work it into his anus.

That her thumb was inside him at all, left him desperate for release.

He was ready to beg now.

Her hand reached between his thighs, and he felt a slight tug that left him gushing all over his legs and the ground.

It seemed endless, but she continued to tug, and he continued to come, until he felt sure that he could never come again.

And once it all stopped, once he was weak and barely holding himself up at all, she commanded, "Kush!"

It was a blessing really, for he was able to rest his upper body on his elbows, and it allowed him to lay a little closer to the ground. So, he kushed, and left his ass to hang in the air.

There was a slap on his rump as she grabbed his cheeks again and slid on in, going as far as she did the first time, then pulling out and sliding in yet again.

The rocking motion began with Lavellan, as the rod, now pleasantly warm, worked his ass. With each thrust she went a little deeper, and to his surprise Cullen felt a second stirring in his loins.

Soon the rocking motion became a group effort, as he craved more length, and the Inquisitor obliged.

Her fingers began to dig into his back now, and he had the distinct feeling that she was not so much a stag that was riding him, but a great cat. Perhaps it was the deep and guttural growls of pleasure she let loose, or the feeling that he was at once her prey and her mate, but whatever it was, he was ready to give himself wholly to it.

To it all.

The rod was thrusting all the way in now, and Cullen's moans were no longer held at bay. He simply couldn't anymore, it just wasn't possible.

The sound of her hips slapping against his drove him further along this deep and dark descent, and his moans turned into long and drawn cries.

Lavellan kept going, her hands caressing his backside one moment, slapping it the next, until his pleasure peaked again and his seed was spent once more.

He was sure that there was no more left in him now, as the whole of his belly and chest were coated in ecstasy.

"Up my halla," the Inquisitor panted, and he heard her undo the clasps that held the harness in place, letting it all fall to the ground.

Cullen forced himself up again, but he wobbled at first before he managed to steady himself.

The woman came to stand before him, and stepped back enough so that she was leaning against the post of a stall.

Her hair was damp with sweat, and the whole of her moved as she breathed.

She was glorious.

"I think it's time for some sugar," she purred, "Don't you?"

Cullen stamped his hand.

She raised a foot to rest on a nearby stool, exposing the sheen of her slick to the orange light of the lanterns.

"Target," she pointed.

Cullen swallowed, but he obeyed and made his way towards her thighs.

He nuzzled the coarse curls between her legs, leaving behind what was left of the cream and strawberry filling on his face, and he took her salty scent in.

Her fingers wove into his hair, and she pulled him closer.

"Making a mess again are you?" she breathed, "You know what you must do."

Cullen used his tongue to lick away as much as he could, and once he seemed to get most of it, Lavellan rolled her hips backwards and lured him in.

She guided him to a hard knot of flesh, which he drew into his mouth and flicked with his tongue.

She moaned, and he knew that she approved.

Cullen worked his tongue and lips upon her sex, and with each stroke, with each gentle nip, she rose higher and higher along the post, drawing herself up along it's length.

"Yes..." she exhaled, her hand pressing the back of his head hard against her, "Almost there."

Cullen's tongue darted inside her, his chin kneading the flesh that came up against it, and Lavellan's husky growl was let loose into the dawn light, her slickness cascading down his chin and throat.

She shook hard against him, but she did not let him go, her hand gripping his hair ever tighter as she came.

And he basked in it. He basked in her pleasure as surely as if it were his own.

And when she was finally spent, when her grip on his hair finally loosened, she graced him with her approval once again.

"What a _good_ halla you are."


End file.
